Author's Notes: Hello! This fic is an exploration of 'What if Simon couldn't regain his memories?' I've enjoyed The Mortal Instruments for the most part, but I've never been a huge fan of how Ms Clare ended with Simon remembering parts of his past, so this is, in a sense, a response to that. I have an end in mind, so it's very highly likely I will finish this. I'll just need to work out the specifics to get to that destination. In the meantime, I hope that you might find this enjoyable, and I would love to hear any feedback you might have. :) Also, if there are any grammar or spelling errors I might have missed (or used the British spelling instead of American), please inform me.

If you skipped that paragraph, here's what you need to know: For this story to progress, the events in Welcome to Shadowhunter Academy never happened. And possibly The Dark Artifices, but I'm still working on that.

Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare.

Openings

A Mortal Instruments Fan Fiction

Chapter 1

Simon realized something was wrong when he walked up onto his front porch.

The moon was veiled by a heavy curtain of clouds that night, but the dim light from the streetlamps opposite his house was enough for him to see that the front door was open. It was wide enough for a human-sized figure to get through.

Dumbfounded, he stared at the dark interiors of his living room. Had he forgotten to lock the door before he had left? It couldn't be, he recalled his mother reminding him to do so, and he had.

Simon pushed the door open wider, stepping in and palming the light switch. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden light. "Mom," he called as he turned to close - and lock - the door. "I'm home!"

No answer. Frowning, he called again, louder. "Mom!"

Did she go out? She would never have left the front door unlocked if she had. Befuddled, and worry creeping into his chest, Simon dropped his bag onto the ground and wandered further into the house. A mewl drew his attention towards a lump of fur curled up behind the coffee table.

"Yossarian!" Simon exclaimed, bending down. His cat mewled again, ears flat against her head. "What happened to you? Why're you so scared?" He reached out to rub her, but Yossarian yowled and scrambled off further into the house.

"Hey!" Simon shouted, following her. The worry was like poisonous vines tightening around his heart now, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

He barged into the kitchen. Then the guest room, and his room. They all looked perfectly fine, nothing that was obviously out of the ordinary, and he turned finally to the last room down the hallway. His mother's. It was lit. That meant his mother should be in.

He stepped inside, and gaped at what he saw.

"Mom!" he shouted, scrambling over to the prone body on the wooden floor. "Mom, oh my God."

Dropping to his knees, he turned his mother onto her back. Her eyes were shut and her skin was cold, cold beyond what any live human should feel like. Shaking fingers found the sides of her neck, but he felt slick against his skin. His fingers came away covered with dark, fresh blood.

"Mom," he whispered, his voice cracking as horror opened a gaping chasm in his stomach. "What the hell?"

When he looked again, there was a gash in his mother's neck. It seemed to drift in and out of his view, but the blood remained a prominent splash of red against her pale flesh. How could he have missed it before?

He pressed his fingers against her wrist instead and buried his face against her chest. His heartbeat was loud inside his head, pounding as he listened for hers.

It was faint. Simon almost cried in relief, gripping onto his mother as he dialed for the ambulance with a trembling hand.

...

Clary had never been one to think of consequences. When she had first leapt into the Shadow World in a frantic, desperate bid to find her mother, how her world would change, how her actions would come to define her and others around her, she thought nothing of it. All that mattered, then, was her goal.

It had taken some time, but she had accepted that it was one of the few characteristics she shared with Valentine. Impulsiveness could never truly leave her, but she was reminded of it as though the fact was hammered into her skull, every time she thought of her best friend.

People around her - her mother, Luke, Magnus - advised her to move on, but how could she do that when guilt assaulted her each time she was reminded of Simon? He wouldn't have gotten involved with the shadowhunters, wouldn't have become a vampire, wouldn't have received the Mark of Cain, had it not been for her interference and selfish desire to keep him - a much needed friend then during her times of hardship and pain - close.

Now, it felt almost like karma, or a sort of retribution for her to bear the burden of a gaping hole in her heart every day. It wasn't entirely fair, she knew, because Simon's friends felt that same pain too. She couldn't do anything about that, but the least she could do was to keep Simon ignorant and free from the dangers of their world.

Still, Clary couldn't quite stop her gasp when said man stepped out of a hospital room right in front of her. Brown eyes blinked up at her blearily from behind hastily adjusted glasses.

"Uh," he said. Then he shook his head and cleared his throat, giving a small embarrassed laugh. "I mean, sorry, didn't see you there."

Clary continued gaping. It had been weeks since she had last seen him at Java Jones, before her parents forbade her from going there if all she was going to do was wreck her emotional state. Simon looked tired, bags hanging heavy under his eyes, posture weary. And what was he doing in the hospital?

"Simon!" she began, before she caught herself. He doesn't who I am, she reminded herself. Other than the girl who hugged him on a road and kissed him on the cheek. Remember that!

Simon blinked again and looked properly at her. "Oh! It's you. Wow, uh, fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah," she whispered, throat constricting. Don't cry. Not in front of him, he'll freak out! "You too," she managed. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my mom." He smiled tiredly, pointing a thumb towards the room he had exited from. "There was an accident."

"Oh!" she gasped. Elaine Lewis. A religious woman, a little eccentric, yet had been kind to her all the time. She distantly remembered Star Trek playing in the living room, and Mrs Lewis bringing out to them soda and chips. She also recalled the desolate expression on her best friend's face when he told her that his mother had kicked him out.

"Uh, are you alright?"

Clary blinked away the memories. "Yeah. What- what happened with your mother? Is she okay?"

"She slipped and fell yesterday, and got a gash on her neck. Lost a lot of blood, but she's okay now, though. Just sleeping off the medication." Simon tried for a smile, but it failed to reach his eyes. He might not remember her, but she knew him well, and there was something else bothering him.

Clary wanted to ask him for the truth, but she was a stranger to him. There were so many things that she yearned to tell him, of the new developments at the Institute, how her - their - friends and family were faring, how there was a new Michael Bay movie coming up that they could make fun of at the theatres together. But it was no longer her place to do that.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Simon nodded and stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, unaware of her internal turmoil. "So what are you doing here?"

"I'm visiting a friend." Unwilling to let the conversation end, she ploughed on. "She's a nurse who works here. I'm supposed to give her, ah, give her something," she concluded lamely. She couldn't tell him she was supposed to pass a magical pendant to a warlock friend, now, could she?

Yet Simon didn't seem to mind. "A kindergarten friend?" he teased.

She couldn't help but smile. "No, but still a good one."

They lapsed into silence, each uncertain of what to say. Clary was about to open her mouth, babble about her day or something- she wasn't very sure, but Simon broke the silence first.

Tugging at the strap of his backpack, he gave her an apologetic smile. "It was nice to see you again, but I've got to get going. I've already missed like, half of school today and I can't really afford to skip too many classes."

"Oh," Clary said, heart plummeting. She forced a smile. "High school is hard, isn't it?"

"Ugh," he said, rolling his eyes. "When I have to get up in the wee hours of the horrible morning, I get eye bags so heavy, sometimes I think I'm some sort of vampire."

Clary smiled weakly. "Please don't say that. And vampires don't get eye bags."

Simon snickered, pointing at the dark circles under the eyes behind his glasses. "Evidence right here." He curled two fingers under his mouth, making vague mimics of fangs.

Despite herself, Clary snorted. "You're such a dork."

He grinned at her. "Dorky enough to get your number?"

Clary started at his unexpected question.

Simon took in her expression, then in pure Simon-style, backtracked quickly. "I mean, I was thinking since we seem to run into each other quite a bit despite living in a city as big as this, we could just catch up sometime? And since you obviously know my number, I-"

Laughter broke out of her, quieting him. "Phone," she said, holding out her hand.

Her best friend fished it out of his pockets and dropped it in her palm. He blinked at her, eyes wide, as he watched her punch in her contact details.

"I have a boyfriend," Clary said as she returned the device, smiling despite Simon's befuddled look. "But I'd love to be friends again, Simon."

Gradually, a smile spread across his face. "Yeah, that'd be cool…" He glanced down at his new contact. "…Clary," he said. "But uh, I still really have to go, so… Catch up with you later?

"Of course," she said, disappointed that she couldn't spend more time with him, though she tried to hide it. "See you soon."

He grinned at her, a little awkwardly now, then sped off down a corner, disappearing.

Clary wasn't sure how long she stood there as nurses, doctors and visitors passed her by, the memory of Simon's smile, his laugh, his back, etched into her mind as though with a carving knife. Yet, she felt lighter after talking to him, exchanging their names and numbers as though they had only officially met for the first time. He still had no knowledge of the Shadow World. All he knew was her. He was safe.

Still, worry nagged at her. From how he looked, the situation with his mother must have been serious enough that he couldn't have gotten a wink of sleep last night. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to check up on Mrs Lewis?

Frowning, Clary entered the hospital room. Asleep on the bed was Simon's mother, dressed in hospital garb, draped with a blanket and an IV hooked into her arm. Drifting closer to her bedside, Clary examined her, looking for her wound, as Simon had said.

What she found instead was a scar. It wasn't in the shape of a gash, but of two perfect puncture holes.